New Hobby
by zennie
Summary: Post-Bloodlines. COMPLETE.
1. Default Chapter

New Hobby  
  
All the usual disclaimers. Summary: Post-Bloodlines. Sara gets a new hobby and finds herself again. Complete.  
  
The music is heavy, bass, and driving. She brings her own mix and they let her play it when nobody else is in the gym. She's always there late or early, before or after shift, so she's alone often. Only one day a week does she work with her trainer, on the day off she now insists on, refusing all entreaties and threats to get her to come to work. She mentions the magic word, "burnout," and they, usually he, stammers in reply and hangs up the phone. Everyone looks at her different since she started insisting on personal time. The DUI thing didn't stay private, not even for 24 hours, and she got used to the pitying, concerned looks and the attempts at camaraderie: invitations to breakfast, dinner, and even movies and art exhibits. It would be touching if it weren't so obviously forced. She knew they did care and were concerned - her co-workers weren't heartless, after all, and she genuinely liked them on some level - but the attempts were too little, too late. She wasn't interested in being part of the team anymore, especially when it seemed that they read the DUI as a call for help, and not the momentary lapse in judgment it had been.  
  
So she refused their offers and invitations, even Grissom when he tried to talk to her, and spent hours in the gym. She came in twice a day, sometimes, when the case had been particularly difficult or one of her co-workers, Catherine especially, had gone out of their way to ask her how she was doing. Like she was damaged goods, the person with the drinking problem, and not just a person who had used a bad coping mechanism during a bad streak. AA had been suggested, recommended, and encouraged from various people, and everyone thought she was in denial when she took the recommendations 'under advisement.' They watched her, evaluated her, every time she showed up for her shift, and she knew they were waiting for her to come in reeking of booze or cough drops or some other hint of her 'problem.' Brass had been the most supportive, and he was the only one who didn't look at her like she's fragile, about to break under the stress of her work. Only Brass was able to see that she was taking positive steps and beating her demons. She had refused their labeling and socially-approved therapy/solution, and for that, everyone else had decided that she wasn't coping. But she was. The mind and emotions followed the body, in a way. Her life had been entirely too cerebral, a common trap of scientists who repudiate the life of the body for the life of the mind. Her life of the mind equated with work, which meant that her work became her life. She remembered once, not long after she had starting working in Las Vegas, Grissom asking if she had hobbies, diversions, from her work so that work wouldn't consume her. She had told him, angrily, that she didn't do anything, didn't like anything. Now, as the music changes to a favorite Veruca Salt tune and her heart rate picks up just a little more, she rues the three years it took her to take that piece of advise.   
  
Here, in the gym, she's found her definition of beauty, one she's not sure Grissom can appreciate. His rollercoasters remind him of his body, of risk, adrenaline, and a world outside of the mind, but those rides are fleeting, she knows. Like the moments when he would touch her shoulder or talk about beauty or call her honey, the moments are fleeting and don't impact him as deeply as they obviously impacted her. But every moment she spends in the gym or running, pushing her body further and further, seeing the muscles develop, and feeling the strength and speed grow, she feels more connected to her body on deeper, more intimate levels. She admires the evidence every time she sees herself in the mirror after her shower, the obvious outlines of the muscles in her triceps, the tight firmness of her stomach. She was always skinny and strong, but this lean power is intoxicating.   
  
The head trainer comes out of the office, noting her there, and supports the heavy bag she's been working on for the last thirty minutes. He calls combinations and she pounds the bag in reply, fists snapping in and back to guard with a speed she never would have imagined possible six months ago. She commits her whole body to each punch, swiveling her hips and rotating her shoulders to drive the power of her whole body and concentrate it into the surface area of her fist. She notes, not for the first time, how well her physics background serves her in this. Balance, motion, and acceleration guide her in the dance with a satisfying 'thud' at the end of every movement. The trainer grunts in satisfaction and orders her off the bag. She wipes her sweaty forehead with the sweatband on her forearm, pushing a few stray hairs back that had come out of her ponytail, before pulling the velcro of her bag gloves with her teeth.   
  
She was just settling in with the speed bag, the three-beat cadence filling the quiet gym, when Tony called. "Sidle." He indicated his office with a twitch of his head, and she followed, obediently, pausing only to grab her water bottle from beside her bag. Tony didn't usually pay any attention to the 'recreational' boxers at the gym, spending all his time with the pro and semi-pro boxers who trained there, and Sara was surprised he even knew her name. She nodded to Tony as she sat down on a much used and abused couch across from his desk. She had never been in his office before, and she took in all the clippings and pictures from a lifetime of working with boxers that passed for decor while she waited for Tony to speak.  
  
"So, Sidle, have you ever considered competition?" She must have looked surprised, because he reacted to her silence as if he were answering a question she had asked. "There's another amateur competition here next month and there's an up-and-coming female fighter out of California who wants to compete and needs a challenger. I'd like you to fight her."  
  
"Me?" Her voice was incredulous. "I'd last all of 15 seconds. Wouldn't be much of a challenge for her."  
  
He looked over her, appraising. "Actually, I think you can take her." He shrugged at her disbelieving look. "The talent pool for female boxers isn't deep. Up-and-coming means she's won two or three matches. You, you have power, speed, and reach. We'd have to change your workout schedule and move up your sparring so you get ring experience." She looked at him with skepticism, but he met her gaze confidently. "I wouldn't suggest it unless I thought you had a chance. Think about it."  
  
------------- Thanks for to the reviewers for the encouragement to continue working on this. I still like the first few paragraphs as a Sara character sketch, but obviously there was more to say. If you just want the character sketch, stop reading now. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sara squeezed off another shot, effectively emptying her clip, and pressed the button to bring the target back to her. Brass had invited her to the range a couple of months ago, and it was one of the few invitations she had accepted. Now she came at least once a week to the police shooting range, mostly with Brass but sometimes alone, enjoying another side to her new feeling of physicality. She found the fusing of the gun into her body, the timing of the breath and the finger pull required for a tight shot group, as intellectually stimulating at the boxing, and she enjoyed spending time with Brass and some of the other detectives as well. As her shooting had improved, the teasing 'science geek' nickname was used less and less frequently. Brass had even gotten her to go out for coffee or dinner a couple of times, afterwards, surprising them both with the enjoyment they found in each other's company. It was a strange friendship, but it worked.   
  
"Ah, Sara, I thought I would find you here." Brass looked over her shoulder at the target she had been examining. "Nice group." She half-turned and flashed him a pleased grin. "You're getting really good with your service pistol. Maybe you should try a .45 sometime."  
  
"I dunno. .45s are heavy, with a lot of kick."  
  
Brass lightly squeezed her forearm, noting the tight muscles. "I think you can handle it. I've noticed you've been eating your Wheaties."   
  
She chuckled at that as she started refilling her clip. Brass set up in the lane beside her and set up a small target to simulate 100-meters downrange.   
  
"You sure you can see that, old-timer?" she teased, as Brass drew his gun and fired off a quick 3-shot burst. He rolled his eyes at show his estimation of her sense of humor and fired another quick burst. Sara watched as he emptied his clip in controlled bursts of firepower and whistled at the precise groups of three on the target when he was done.  
  
"You were saying something about my eyesight?" He smirked at her.  
  
"Oh, hey, not me," she replied with a grin. He put in another clip and sent another target down range as she wandered over to the back room and started a pot of coffee. This was her favorite part of the firing range ritual: cleaning the weapon afterwards. She got started on taking the weapon apart while waiting for the coffee and Brass to join her. He did, just as she was pouring them both a cup of coffee. "Oh, Sara, before I forget, I may be able to sneak you in on a live-fire exercise sometime with a class of cadets. Would you be interested?"  
  
"Hell, yeah. Just tell me when and where. I've been dying to try pop-up targets."  
  
"Will-do." They shared a smile before cleaning their weapons in companionable silence, the smell of coffee and oil warring in the small space. Sara finished first and clipped her sidearm on her belt.  
  
"I gotta run an errand before shift. See you later?"  
  
He watched her leave, reflecting in the changes he had seen in the young woman the last few months. He had always felt a little protective of her, so smart, eager, and open in a job that required the ability to close off your emotions. He was seen the problem with alcohol coming, could see her on the edge of burn out, and had even tried to warn her, but he had also known that there were some lessons you had to learn yourself. She had taken a week's vacation after the incident, and he had feared for her job and her health, both physical and emotional. But he had been happy to discover he had underestimated her strength and resilience. When she returned to the job, she had come back with a renewed focus and energy, all the more noticeable due to its absence before. He knew she hadn't stopped drinking, hadn't taken the 12-step route, a decision he too had made when faced with similar circumstances, but she had done something. He knew the other CSIs watched her with worry, but he had watched in admiration as she worked through her problems. He could tell it irked her, how her co-workers handled her with kid gloves when she returned, and because he had been there and understood, he found himself inviting her to join him in his favorite relaxation pastime: the shooting range. Her smile when she accepted his invitation would have swept anyone off their feet, and he wasn't immune to her beauty and wholesome charm, but his interest in her was completely paternal. And so began an odd and unlikely but satisfying friendship, revolving around their shooting time and conversations about cases and weapons afterwards. 


	3. Chapter 3

Warrick walked into the break room twenty minutes before shift, grinning at Catherine and Nick as he sat at the table. Catherine noticed his cat-that-ate-the-canary look immediately, and gave him a quizzical look. "What's up with you?"  
  
"I found out a secret. About the secret life of our girl Sara."  
  
"Really?" Catherine's tone was intrigued and Nick was staring at him, googly-eyed. "So?" Catherine demanded when Warrick let the pause stretch.  
  
He checked over his shoulder and leaned in; Catherine and Nick followed suit, huddling together over the center of the break room table. "So I found out from a friend of mine in the PD that Sara is becoming somewhat of a regular at the shooting range downtown." He glanced over his shoulder again. "With Brass. Apparently, they are in there once a week."  
  
He leaned back, enjoying the look of surprise and shock on his co-workers' faces. "Sara?" was Catherine's reply, to which Nick added an outraged, "Brass? You've got to be kidding me." Warrick shook his head solemnly. "Nope."  
  
Catherine sat back in her chair thoughtfully. "Huh. So some of those times we were inviting her out to dinner, she was sneaking off with Brass?" Her tone was teasing, but the way she said it implied a scandal, and she was rewarded with NIck's look of horror at the thought.   
  
"No way. No way. I refuse to believe it," he said, shaking his head in denial.  
  
"Believe what?" asked Sara from the door. All three looked up at her with an expression of some degree of amusement, interest, and horror, and Sara's eyes widened when she realized exactly who they had been talking about. As the silence stretched, Sara examined her co-workers faces carefully, trying to figure out what exactly they had been saying about her. Catherine seemed to be viewing her with a new respect, Warrick just smiled at her happily, and Nick looked like he swallowed a whole cup of coffee down his airway and was trying desperately to breath.  
  
"Ok..." Sara said slowly as she walked further into the room and took a seat at the table. "I think I know 'who' the topic of conversation is." Her co-workers made the classic, guilty glances at each other, and Sara smiled in spite of herself. "I don't know the 'what' though. Anyone care to share?" she asked sweetly, sweeping her gaze around the table to catch everyone's eyes.  
  
Warrick laughed, good-naturedly. "You caught us. I was just telling Cat and Nick," he indicated the two guilty-looking faces across from them, "that I heard you've been burning up the shooting range with Brass lately." He lightly punched her on the shoulder, obviously enjoying catching her and her co-workers out.   
  
"It's not exactly a secret," Sara replied, looking around the table at her co-workers with an amused grin, until she had to laugh at Nick's outraged expression.   
  
"But you. And Brass," Nick sputtered, clearly unable to understand the two of them spending any time together. Or else, Sara thought, he was thinking some pretty twisted thoughts.  
  
Sara nodded her head, grinning broadly at Nick's discomfort. "We were just there today, as a matter of fact." Catherine was still sitting back in her chair, staring at her with a mixture of admiration and fascination while Nick seemed to trying to process the information. "What?" she asked, her hands flying wide for emphasis.   
  
Catherine grinned and shrugged her shoulders. "It's just... unexpected. You've been so... quiet lately," she said, trying to explain. "Finding out anything about how you've been spending your off time is big news."  
  
"If this ranks as prime water-cooler gossip, then this must be a slow news week," Sara commented dryly, but secretly she was pleased. While it wasn't pleasant to find herself the topic of the conversation, the way they were relating to her was a welcome change from the way they had been tiptoeing around her for months. Warrick, who was enjoying the moment as much as she was, slid an arm around her shoulder and squeezed, jerking his head at Nick and winking at her in shared camaraderie. Nick glared for another minute at being the butt of the joke before his good-natured personality took over and he joined in the laughter around the table. When Grissom came into the break room, even he noticed the relaxed atmosphere and animated conversation flying around the room. Mostly, he noticed Sara's huge smile and Warrick's arm still loosely draped over her shoulder.   
  
Later, in the locker room, Warrick sidled up to her apologetically, with a hang-dog look somewhat spoiled by the grin he couldn't completely hide. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be spreading gossip about you behind your back. It's just, you know, we're all trying to figure you out. Am I forgiven?" His sad expression was just the right side of comical, and elicited a smile from Sara.  
  
She swatted at him playfully, tagging him on the shoulder. "Brat." Her sigh was over-the-top theatrical. "You had Nicky thinking Brass and I were..." She shook her head in mock disgust. "I can't even verbalize what he was thinking."  
  
His grin broke through, then. "You have to admit, that was really funny." She laughed in agreement, feeling again warmth from her co-workers that had been missing for months.   
  
Warrick must have sensed her thoughts, because he paused at the door of the locker room before leaving. "Hey, Sara?" When she looked up, the soft expression on his face surprised her, as did his words. "It's good to have you back." 


	4. Chapter 4

"So are you going to join us for breakfast this morning?" Nick asked, still slightly embarrassed by the scene earlier, as they all sat around the break room again. For once, all their cases had wrapped up quickly and everyone was finishing paperwork in anticipation.   
  
Sara couldn't resist teasing him some more. "No, I have to be somewhere," she replied mysteriously and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Catherine paused and glanced over the top of her folder at Nick to see if he would take the bait.  
  
"Meeting Brass?" He guessed, with a tone of self-deprecation.  
  
"No, with another older gentleman," she replied smugly.   
  
Nick's eyes bugged out. "Grissom?"  
  
She twisted her face into a picture of mock disgust. "No," she said emphatically.   
  
He shook his head, laughingly. "You know, I think I'm better off not knowing about your personal life," he teased.  
  
She swatted him with the folder she was working on. "You're just jealous," she said, winking at him flirtatiously. She checked her watch. "Ooops, gotta go. Bye."  
  
Catherine arched her eyebrow at Sara's retreating back as she snapped her own folder shut. "She's in an awfully good mood," she commented.   
  
"Yeah," Warrick agreed, watching her back. "I could get used to it." A chorus of 'yeahs' responded to his assertion.  
  
Sara wondered wryly if Tony would have objected to being called a gentleman earlier as he started laying out her training plan for her. If the plan was anything to go by, he was anything but gentle. As soon as she arrived at the gym, he sent her out on a five-mile run. "I want you used to training on rubbery legs," was his curt explanation. He spent the next hour after the run drilling her on footwork in the ring, and finished her off with the most intense ring drills she had ever done before. By the time he stopped the session, her legs and shoulders burned with exhaustion. She knew her punches got sloppy the last half hour, but she thought she saw approval in Tony's eyes when he gruffly ordered her to jump rope and practice combinations at half-speed for an hour later in the day. Driving home, she felt a warm lassitude wash over her as every muscle seemed emptied of stress and tension. She forced herself to eat a huge lunch and shower before crawling into bed.   
  
For a while, it did seem that she was living a double life, working her mind intensely at work and her body just as intensely at the gym. Every morning she collapsed into a dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion, and she found her appetite picking up, which did not go unnoticed by her co-workers, but she also found herself happier than she had been in a long, long time. She was more relaxed at work, and everyone took their cue from that and relaxed around her as well. As she noticed the changes in her co-workers, she realized that her defensiveness around them after the incident had played a large part in the strain between them. Work started to be interesting again, and training was no longer an escape but a perfectly balanced counter. The schedule took its toll, sometimes, but her insomnia and occasional bouts with depression all but disappeared.   
  
She was dozing in the break room before shift started when Warrick patted her on the shoulder, eliciting an "ouch" as she flinched away from his hand before she realized she had done it. Her second sparring session with another amateur flyweight, one of the guys at the gym, had been that afternoon and while she had held her own, she knew she would have bruises all over the place the next day.  
  
She glanced up into his concerned eyes and tried to smile away his concern. "Hey." He didn't reply, just narrowed his eyes and put pressure on her shoulder until she twitched it out from under his hand. "Ouch." She sighed at his continued silence. "Ok, you caught me. I'm sore."  
  
"From what?"  
  
"Lifting." She caught his doubtful expression. "What? I've been on a fitness kick lately."  
  
He seemed to accept that, and poured them both a cup of coffee before sitting down beside her. "Here. You look like you could use this." She sipped the coffee gratefully, exhausted after the workout. She had the day off from training tomorrow and she knew she could use a day to sleep. "Fitness kick, huh? No wonder you are looking so buff lately." She reached for a donut as he chuckled. "And maybe why you are eating so damn much." She grunted in reply.  
  
Even though she took a long hot shower this afternoon, her muscles were already starting to tighten. She dropped her head and rotated her shoulders, trying to keep them loose. She couldn't wait until the shift ended and she could soak for a good hour in the tub. Warrick's voice broke through her daydreams of a whirlpool and a glass of wine. "Turn around." She shifted around on her chair and he started kneading her shoulders, eliciting a low moan of appreciation from her. "Damn, girl, how long have you been lifting? Your shoulders are like steel."  
  
"A while," she admitted, and then sighed in pure contentment as his fingers moved up her neck. "I decided to do something constructive instead of destructive with all my excess stress."  
  
"Mmmm, when's my turn?" Catherine asked from the doorway.   
  
Sara laughed. "Get in line." But she reached up and caught Warrick's hands, stopping their movement on her shoulders. "Thanks."   
  
"No problem. Just next time, be more careful." 


	5. Chapter 5

The lunch-status meeting was finally winding down, much to Sara's relief. She was fighting to get through the shift, and extended sit down time did not help any. Not even coffee and food were working for her. She yawned again and pushed her sleeves back, resting her chin on her thumbs, hoping she looked more awake than she actually felt.   
  
Catherine gasped, and then called her name in a shocked voice, immediately stopping all conversation around the table. Sara started, afraid Catherine had caught her nodding off, and then gave Catherine a puzzled look. "What?"  
  
"Your arms." Sara glanced down, realizing just a moment before Catherine spoke again what was wrong. "Where did you get all those bruises?"  
  
Sara's face heated as she realized everyone was staring at her, and she hastily pulled her sleeves to her wrists. "It's nothing."  
  
"Nothing?" came Catherine's disbelieving reply.   
  
"Sara?" Grissom's voice was quiet, but obviously concerned.   
  
Sara sighed in exasperation. "Really, it's nothing. Can we go back to work now?" she said, in her best I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it voice, but Warrick was already grasping her wrist and turning her arm over to look. "Hey." She jerked her arm away and glared at him. She looked around the table and knew nobody was going to drop it without an explanation. "I was..." she shrugged her shoulders, "sparring this afternoon." She held up her forearms and twisted them around, assessing the damage for herself. "For a flyweight, he was pretty strong."  
  
"Boxing?" Gil sounded stunned.  
  
"Yes," she replied in a 'well, duh' tone. Luckily, she was saved from any further interrogation by her and Warrick's beepers going off. "Lab results," she said with false enthusiasm. She saw Gil get ready to push the issue further, so she cut him off. "Are we done?" His look told her it was only a reprieve as he sighed and waved them out.  
  
Catherine stuck her head in the lab where Sara was working. "Breakfast. With us, this morning." Sara opened her mouth to protest, but Catherine waved her hand commandingly. "No excuses." She smiled to take the bite out of her words. "You can't tell me you aren't hungry."  
  
"No way I can get out of it? Even by pleading exhaustion?" Sara twisted her expression into mock pitifulness and hung her head to the side. Catherine laughed, but shook her head. "No."   
  
She was surprised that Grissom and even Brass joined them for breakfast. Sara felt the pressure of everyone's stare after the food was ordered, and squirmed uncomfortably. Being in the spotlight for something other than work with her work colleagues was disconcerting, since she had tried so hard to keep her personal life private since the DUI incident. She surveyed the table, and suddenly chuckled. "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" she quipped, to the amusement of most everyone at the table, except Grissom, who didn't get the cultural reference.   
  
Nick hooted with laughter and followed up with a "Fetch... the Comfy Chair" to rambucous laughter. He turned to Gil. "Monty Python's Flying Circus. You should check it out."  
  
"The comfy chair may not be necessary." Catherine deadpanned. "We'll hold that in reserve," her tone mock-threatening.   
  
Brass caught her eye from across the table, his face pensive as he regarded her. "So why didn't you tell me you were boxing? I mean, I knew you were doing something."   
  
"I don't know." She felt that she was only talking to Jim as she reflected. "At first, it was just a way to escape work, a way to define my life outside of work. So I didn't tell anyone at work." She met his eyes and smiled, knowing her understood. "I needed an escape," she stated solemnly, as she remembered that trapped feeling that had squeezed her lungs and made it hard to breath. It had started that morning as soon as she had woken up, when all the images of the night before had flashed through her head. The red and blue lights in her rearview mirror, Gil standing at the door of the station, and the concern in his eyes as he asked if she was alright. The sense of paralysis had lasted into afternoon, as she examined her actions and choices that had led her to that point. She knew instinctively that the 12-step path wasn't her way, so she spent most of that week trying to figure out her way. She had been running and saw a billboard for an upcoming fight, and it immediately appealed to her even though she had never considered boxing before. The very idea of the brute physicality excited her imagination, and she had to admit striking out appealed to her as well. "The world of science is so much about the mind, so I decided to explore the body."  
  
"So how long?" Catherine asked, surprised that Sara had been doing this without their knowledge. She knew relationships had been strained recently, but it saddened her to think that Sara hid so much of her life from them. Catherine had thought they were friends.  
  
"Almost every day since that week of vacation I took. And running."  
  
"Wow. No wonder you've been tired lately."  
  
She nodded as the waitress delivered the food. "A little. I've just been training a little harder this month."  
  
Joking and inevitable Rocky comments circulated around the table while they ate, and Sara took the ribbing in stride. Gil still looked demused by the whole idea, as if he was trying to picture it in his head and was failing miserably. He kept sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking, trying to reconcile the image of her peering into a microscope with her moving around a ring. She found she liked his discomfort, realizing that she had felt under his control in this weird not-relationship they had been having. Shaking up his image of her felt... freeing, strong, like she was finally herself. She met his eyes and smiled during one of his furtive glances, and she realized in that moment that she was over him. Her celebration of this realization was quiet and private; she laughed and joined in as everyone quoted their favorite Monty Python lines, feeling weightless and content. 


End file.
